Colonial Country Club. Sunday, Memorial Day Weekend, May 2025. Ninety-seven degrees. The last spring weekend in Texas. It’s final-round Sunday, the last chance for PGA Tour players and fans to attend an event like this before the heat really turns unbearable.

We show up at noon and pass through security. Crowds of spectators and leaderboards line a horizon encompassed by pecan trees. The foliage gives the illusion that you’re “hidden away,” even though it’s smack-dab in the middle of Fort Worth.

'No running on Sunday...Unless you're going to grab a beer.'

Banners bearing the names of some of the greatest golfers of all time—they each won here—line the lamp posts along the cart path. Sam Snead, Ben Hogan, Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus. The history and the atmosphere are the stuff of legends. You’re walking on hallowed ground.

Hogan, a Texas native, won this tournament five times, more than any other player, earning Colonial the moniker “Hogan’s Alley.” A giant bronze statue to “The Hawk” himself sits prominently at the clubhouse overlooking the course.

A marshal opens up the ropes for us to cross the fairway toward the main clubhouse. We strike a quick pace. He looks at me. “No running on Sunday…” I slow down a bit, unable to gauge if he’s serious but unwilling to risk mouthing off and getting thrown out.

He pauses for a moment, then cracks a smile, “Unless you’re going to grab a beer.”

“You read my mind.”

You can never put a price on etiquette.

We pass a giant car mounted on a platform next to one of the nearby practice areas. The winner at the Charles Schwab Challenge is customarily gifted an antique car, and this year’s prize was a restored 1992 baby blue Land Rover.

We wanted to visit the pro shop first to grab some memorabilia. My buddy snagged a new visor. I bought a couple of souvenir golf balls and a towel featuring the Colonial insignia.

Then, before the featured groups came around, the refreshments.

“Give me two ciders, three waters, a hot dog, a bag of chips, and a Coca-Cola.” We scarfed down the food and the beverages and began to carve a way through the crowd. Time to flag down a staff member and get our bearings.

“Where’s number seven green? We’re trying to find Scheffler.”

A marshal signals us at a treeline: the general direction of the #1 player in the world.

Logan Hall

Scottie Scheffler made a run on Saturday, shooting a 6-under 64 after barely making the cut line. Now he’s currently tied for third. As we approach, we see a huge crowd swarming along the previous fairway.

“There’s too many people out. I bet half of them have never even picked up a club. Shrink the game,” I whisper to my buddy.

Nevertheless, it’s clear that the fans are there for one reason and one reason only: They’re here to root for Scottie.

We look back at the tee box and watch him hit a drive straight down the center of #5 fairway, around 20 yards from our position.

“There he is,” a spectator nearby exclaims while the crowd collapses on Scottie, walking toward the shot.

Scottie ends up making par.

We decide to get away from the throng and set up shop on #7. Better to stake out a few prime locations today as opposed to walking a grueling number of miles around the entire course.

Scottie makes par here too, after hitting his second close to about 12 feet but missing the putt.

As we head toward our next vantage point, a ball whizzes through the leaves and plops itself directly in front of us. A near miss, luckily, but this means we’ll get an ideal look up close at one of the pros.

The player clipped it right and now faces a difficult, basically impossible, approach to the green.

He has to keep the next one low enough to stay under the trees, threading the perfect gap between them but also high enough to clear the fescue and the bunkers to land on the green and salvage a par. He almost pulls it off. His shot plunks just inside the front sandtrap.

“Let’s go to #13.”

A picturesque 170-yard par three over the water. The pathway to and from the hole is designed so a player has to walk within arm’s length of the attendees.

Post up accordingly and, if you’re lucky, a player might give you a high five or a wink and a nod.

Thirty minutes later. Silence, then roaring thunder. Three F-18s burst through the clouds over the stands—the loudest noise anyone will ever hear on the course.

Chants of “USA! USA! USA!” break out as fans put hats to hearts and whoop and holler to honor our Armed Forces on Memorial Day as they’ve done many times here throughout the years. It gives me cold chills.

Somewhere nearby, a large, older man raises his voice: “Flyovers are just better when you’re a Republican.” Those in the vicinity, judging by their response, seem to agree too.

The sense of patriotism is palpable. I find the guy and give him a fist bump.

We sit down in anticipation of the closing stretch. Scottie paces by. We give him a quick “good luck.”

Golf really is the best spectator sport. Nowhere else can you get this close to the professionals.

There’s a cost, of course. Tired, dehydrated, and sunburnt beyond belief, we head to #18. The final hole.

Ben Griffin, the solo leader, has a difficult shot. He has to stand in the greenside bunker with his hands above him and choke down on the club just enough to put it close. In this case, he manages about four feet from the hole.

The player in second place is off to the side, in the rough beneath the hole. The crowd goes wild as, miraculously, he chips it in, forcing Griffin to drain his putt to win the tournament.

Griffin taps in, secures his victory, and proudly raises a fist to the air. It’s finished. The officials present him with a trophy and an honorary plaid tartan jacket, along with a set of keys to that ’92 Land Rover.

As one does, we push our way back and head to the gates to grab an Uber for dinner—but not before we’re stopped by the marshal from earlier in the day. He hands us a small offering: a miniature American flag with a red, white, and blue Memorial Day pinwheel. He thanks us for stopping by. The pinwheel flutters in the breeze, a small symbol of this sport, this tradition, and this country rolling on, year by year.

“Until next time.” He nods. We nod back.

And that’s game. ●

Logan Hall is a Digital Strategist for Blaze Media and the Digital Curator for Frontier.